


Your Heart Is On The Floor

by roachpatrol



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, Bloodplay, Edgeplay, F/F, Xeno, alien lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachpatrol/pseuds/roachpatrol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vriska's been absolutely torn up, and from the way her heartbeat thunders under the pressure of Terezi's mouth she'd let it happen again, again and again until there's nothing left of her.</p><p>Terezi finds this thought appealing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Heart Is On The Floor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the homesmut prompt:
> 
>  _  
> Vriska / Terezi blackrom, mind control and mind games would be awesome. Like Vriska controlling Terezi but this is somehow only because Terezi wanted her to. Dub-con is fine, but no non-con. ...I don't even know. Make it happen, anons._
> 
> Now with at least 20% more vicious bloodplay.

  
Vriska's sitting by her husktop up on the roof, a small still huddled form of orange and brilliant shining blue, and when Terezi calls her name she can practically smell the girl's answering smirk. In another universe, things happened differently. In this universe Vriska tilts her head to one side and smirks, a slice of brilliant white. She raises her hands to her temples, and Terezi catches on _fire_ with need.

She drops her cane and her Pyralspite plush and takes two steps forward and one step down, knots her hands in the taller girl's pumpkin-spice hoodie, and brings their mouths together.

Vriska makes the tiniest little noise, a wet gasp, and it infuriates Terezi more, that she could be _surprised_. Did the girl have no idea what she was _doing_ to her, was she just wrenching levers around in Terezi's brain to see what would happen? The sheer insolent nerve it would take to do that to someone-- to _Terezi herself_ \-- is nearly as admirable as it is infuriating. Terezi bites at her adversary's mouth and sucks hungrily, vengefully, on her tongue, and brings her hands up to grab tight hold, and Vriska moans when she tries to step back and can't.

There's a rough spot on Vriska's neck, Terezi discovers, under the hair and the hood, two thick round black-blue scabs joined by a thin arch. Terezi pushes her red-gloved thumb down on the broken skin and feels a bloom of cool welling blood and Vriska whines and shudders all over. It smells of sex and pain and desire, the metallic blueberry tang of blood and something whiter, something wilder. The world rearranges itself with the very best sort of _snap_ , every angle of this situation lighting up in a flash of seer's intuition, past-present-future shining through the dark spaces behind her eyes.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear, what ever could this be?" she purrs, teasing the wound, breathing in the lovely bitter blue tang of it. It hardly needs an answer, and Vriska doesn't bother. The pain is messing with Vriska's head, she can tell, the pain and the remembered pleasure, it's sapping her resistance. Rainbow drinkers are dangerous, Terezi knows, for reasons past the obvious; they change the minds of their conquests in so many subtle ways, bend them to their will and leave them tied off in knots. And Vriska's gone so wonderfully _pliant_ , now, Terezi's just got to dig in her nails through the red leather and Vriska whimpers and goes still as a longeared hopbeast beneath the shadow of the predator. She drags her tongue down the smooth column of Vriska's throat, feeling, teasing-- here the rough rasp of dried blood, there the ragged stiff-damp-tender tear of a bitemark, a laceration, broken-up blue pressing close to shredded skin. Vriska's been absolutely torn up, and from the way her heartbeat thunders under the pressure of Terezi's mouth she'd let it happen again, again and again until there's nothing left of her.

Terezi finds this thought appealing.

Something sparks through her mind, a clumsy mental prod, and her teeth slip, clench down harder on Vriska's throat than she'd meant to and draw a fresh wellspring of blood. More manipulation, perhaps, but not one Terezi can properly object to. Vriska tastes of the finest iron, of blued steel and blueberries, sweet and rich and intoxicating, and her hands fumble down to knead at the front of Vriska's pants before she's quite aware of intending to do so, wrapping her fingers around the insistent press of her unsheathing bulge. She's so ready, too, though, her own heart racing, her own leggings entirely too tight against her for comfort.

"Kanaya," Vriska gasps, dropping her head to Terezi's shoulder, offering up the vulnerable red bands of her horns for Terezi's grasp--

Terezi dumps Vriska on her ass, a bright puff of fairy glitter exploding out from the impact.

"Guess again, _bitch_ ," she says, and drops to her knees beside her.

She snaps her teeth around one of Vriska's wrists, when the girl tries to ward her off, and is rewarded with the gorgeous music of a pained yelp and another burst of blueberry iron tang like fireworks inside her mouth, like a dream of heaven and dark desire, thick and heady as syrup. Vriska smacks at her face with her other arm, dizzy and weak with lust and pain and exhaustion, her blows only barely hard enough to hurt. A butterfly, pinned just for her, the wild shine of those ridiculous wings nothing more than punctuation against the darkness.

Terezi wrenches Vriska's ridiculous pumpkin-orange pants down her hips, lets go of Vriska's wrist with a brutal sideways flick of the head that leaves her spilling out that blueberry all across the dust gray tiles. Beneath her straining bulge, her nook is flushed blue, so swollen and _used_ and there's hot round hickies all over her hips, her thighs, Kanaya's work, the vivid marks set just _so_ , elegantly arrayed and so deliciously tender under Terezi's punishing tongue. This work is nothing like love, of course, but Terezi thinks that she could love doing it.

 Vriska moans, sobs almost, and raises one shaking hand to her temples, and Terezi fumbles down her own long skirt and leggings, kicks off her tall boots, and pounces. Somehow she ends up with Vriska's bulge in her nook instead of vice-versa, but it hardly matters when everything is heat and friction and the taste of her best friend-- best _enemy_ \-- in her mouth, spilling hotly down her chin and gathering thickly in the corner of her lips, in her nose, painting the whole world a rich royal blue.

They're sisters, the two of them, a pair of serpents tied together by their tails and she'll eat this mad wreck of a girl down to the tips of her horns before she lets anyone else even _think_ of having her. She rolls her hips, delighting in how _full_ she feels, in the rising heat of her stomach and her thighs and her heart, and leans down to palm her small breasts and rut her bulge against the soft smooth expanse of Vriska's stomach.

Vriska rolls them over with a desperate grunt, elbows shaking, head hanging as she does her best to hold her position above Terezi. She's breathing so hard, convulsively, hard as if she's run miles and miles, and her wings twitch in unsteady spasm. Her eyes are unfocused, distant, her fierce snarl is nearly a grimace. Terezi's bulge is pressed down close between their joined bodies, warm and soft and perfect, and it makes Terezi laugh with feral delight.

"What, you think I can't hurt you like this?" Terezi mocks, and scores her nails down hard along Vriska's back, right between the dusty sparkle of the wings. "Don't start what you can't _finish_ , sister!"

Vriska shouts with pain at the rents and her hips stutter, driving deeper. Terezi grinds her hips up, cooing with pleasure, reveling in the heat and closeness and the soft warm endless expanse of Vriska's skin, the sticky flow of her blood and the sweat-matted prickle of her hair, the thick press of her bulge inside her until Vriska's whimpering with every ragged exhalation, her head dropping down to Terezi's shoulder, the long curve of her spine going slack against Terezi's chest and stomach.

It's wriggler's play for Terezi to roll her back over, relishing the thick papery crackle as her wings crease and crumple, to straddle her hips and ride her properly, digging bite after bite out of her throat and shoulders until there is not one tiny bit of gray left to her skin, drive her on to a mewling limp-limbed pathetic stupor in a spreading pool of her own blueberry blood and wring out every gorgeous stab of pleasure her failing body has to offer. She is a feast, Terezi's sister, set out on her own silver plate, and she could fuck her till she dies and beyond.

Vriska comes, with a burst of genetic fluid that she likely can't afford, and a soft, faltering moan. Her head falls limply to the side, and she doesn't move. Terezi grinds her hips down once, twice, takes a long luxuriating lick of that blueberry syrupy blood, tasting of snow-cones in summer and anguished surrender, bright joy and dark beauty and feral triumph, and she reaches her own climax, her every sense overwhelmed by blue and orange and sparkling light and _Vriska_ , the way she's so still and quiet, the way she's _won_.

She slumps down beside Vriska's lax form, panting for breath. Vriska's breathing, too, tiny shallow puffs, so at least there's that. Terezi's never experienced her so profoundly diminished: it makes something inside her sort of curl up with tender hateful delighted glee. She's _won_. And she'll win the next round too, and the next--

A bright shadow falls over her, smelling of blue and green and red and black and deathly white light.

"I think we need to have a talk about boundaries, Terezi," Kanaya says.

It's one step from her to the rainbow drinker, and it's one step from her to her sword-cane.

The perfect gamble.

"Bite me," Terezi says, and _grins._


End file.
